What Happens At The Bar Stays At England's House
by loonyluna901
Summary: England and America are catching up for the night but they don't have anything planned. America comes up with the brilliant idea of going to the bar! A few drinks later, England finds himself in a very awkward situation that he most certainty doesn't want to be in. How will England get out of this situation without losing his innocence?
1. England And America Plan Their Night Out

Hello everyone and welcome to my first ever fanficton! Before I explain what it's about I would like to credit my friend ZakuroU for helping me to write it, come up with ideas, and just helping me with everything! If it wasn't for her this Fanfiction wouldn't be here. I would also like to state that there's quite a bit of swearing in this story so you have been warned!

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England and America are catching up for the night but they don't have anything planned. America comes up with the brilliant idea of going to the bar! Of course we all know what happens when England gets drunk, he's out of control! A few drinks and a few hours later, England finds himself in a very awkward situation that he most certainty doesn't want to be in, but on the other hand America does. How will England get out of this situation without losing his innocence? What crazy adventures will drunk America and England get up to?

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**What Happens At The Bar Stays At England's House**

Chapter 1:

_England and America Plan Their Night Out_

_Bing-bong!_ England glanced up from his newspaper and looked in the direction of the hallway upon hearing the doorbell, letting out a sigh. How had he ended up inviting _this _oaf to his house? Never mind that, how had he even ended up allowing him into his _country?_

_Bing-bong! Bing-bong!_ He sighed again and rose to his feet, straightening out his green jumper and making his way down the hallway. _Bing-bong! Bingbongbingbongbingbongbingbon—_ "Alright, you prat, I'm coming already!" England barked, wrenching the door open with a glare at the beaming American who awaited. "Dude!" he exclaimed, a dumbly oblivious expression on his grinning face.

"Is it a thing in this country to leave a bro waiting on the doorstep for an hour?"

"It wasn't an hour," England corrected, his ridiculous eyebrows knotting as he glared. "And stop beaming at me like that, it makes you look like an air-head!"

"Ahahaha!" America laughed, his grin widening to Italy-level stupidity. "Don't be like that, dude! We're supposed to be having some fun!" England kept his glare on full blast the whole way down the corridor and the pair went down to the living room, a large and airy room decorated with many pictures, most of strange creatures dancing in enchanted forests and scones which probably weren't of England's creation. The floor was covered with a fluffy rug printed with the Union Jack, matching pillows resting on the long white sofa that spanned one wall, and a huge television hung on the opposite wall. America wasted no time in making himself comfortable, dropping onto said sofa only to proclaim at the top of his lungs a moment later,

"England, I'm bored! Let's do something fun!"

"'Fun'?" England echoed. "What do you mean, 'fun'? What sort of fun?"

"You know," America whined, pouting. "Fun!"

"No…" England replied, staring blandly at the other nation. "I don't." America laughed again, winking suggestively.

"Sure ya do!" England shot America a look from where he stood in the doorway.

"Are you suggesting that we go to _the bar_ and drink…" He shuddered, recalling the last event involving the pair and drinking. "…_alcohol?_"

"Yeah, dude!" America exclaimed, his loud voice blasting the room. "It's gonna be so much fun! And maybe you've improved your drinking problem!" England looked skeptically out the window.

"Maybe…" America sat up straight, his crumpled brown jacket straightening. He turned his bright blue eyes on England, as if searching into his soul and beyond.

"Please!" England didn't falter.

"Give me one good reason why I should go out drinking with _you_, wake up the next day with a pounding headache and you still here, and not even be able to remember anything!"

"Because…" America seemed to be racking his brains for an appropriate argument. He frowned before a lightbulb nearly appeared over his head and he proclaimed,

"I'm the hero!" England grit his teeth, unimpressed with himself for having raised such an idiotic git. He thought hard about the consequences of such an outing, about what the other nations would think if he threw another tantrum like last time, what would happen if France the Frog found out, what would happen to the reputation of his country…

"Fuck you, let's go," he said eventually.


	2. Come On England, Lighten Up Dude!

**What Happens At The Bar Stays At England's House**

Chapter 2:

_Come On England, Lighten Up!_

* * *

"Ugh." England looked around, scorning America's taste in pubs. This place was loud and boisterous and packed to the rafters with chattering people; not the kind of bar for a gentleman like himself to be hanging around in.

"I hate this place. It's so… _alcoholic-y_." America rolled his eyes as England sniffed the air, screwing up his nose in distaste. "And it smells awful."

"Can't be much worse than the air outside," the younger nation jibed. "I don't think the smell's gotten any better since way back when horses still crapped in the streets and you wore a top hat!"

"Oh, can it, you sodding great twat," England huffed, folding his arms on the counter of the bar they sat at. "I looked _good_ in a top hat."

America grinned. "Lighten up, dude! This place has a great atmosphere! Heck, first drink's on me. Whatcha want?"

"I hate you sometimes."

"Not as much as you hate France though, right?" England snapped up, shaking his fist.

"France?! Where?! I'll show that no-good frog who's a better cook!" He glanced around, grinding his teeth. America exposed his palms, making soothing movements with his hands.

"Whoa, dude! What the actual fuck? Calm the shit down! France isn't even here." England cast one last raking glance over the crowd.

"You never know. I wouldn't put anything past that miserable frog-face."

"Hey, just shut up and have a drink." America waved over a bartender. "Hit us, man!" He slid a glass over to England, who picked it up and sniffed it tentatively.

"Sorry about that, chap. And I'm still not quite convinced this is a good idea. Are you sure I should be doing this?"

"I am 900% sure!" America exclaimed, actually completely unaware that this really wasn't mathematically possible. "Lighten up! Please? For me?" England sighed heavily and submitted to the puppy-dog look that America was giving him, his blue eyes pleading and his bottom lib stuck out.

"Fine. Just a little. I'm sure nothing could go _horrifically wrong_. I mean, my problem's not _that_ bad." America dropped his act and brightened, slapping England on the back heartily.

"That's the spirit! Positive thinking rules! It's the mark of a hero!" He sipped his drink and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully."What a weird word. Spiiiiriiiiit. Spirit. Spiritspiritspirit." He laughed. "Spirit!" England's attention wandered as his fellow country preceded to stick the word 'spirit' after every other word that came to mind.

"American spirit! Hamburger spirit! Basketball spirit! Pie spirit! Victorious spirit! Christmas spirit!" A red hat popped up behind the counter, complete with fluffy white trim and pompom. It was quickly followed by the rest of Finland, who arose fully decked out in a Santa suit and calling at the top of his little blonde lungs,

"Did someone say 'Christmas spirit?!'" America stopped halfway through 'free spirit'.

"OMFG, I just _love_ Christmas! It's such a magical time where everyone can get together and celebrate the beauty of love and the magic of giving! I simply _adore—"_ America leaned forward and pushed down on Finland's head, attempting to shove him back down into whatever magical void he'd appeared from.

"Shut up, Finland! No one fucking well asked your opinion on Chrismas!" Finland expression shifted to one of offended depression and he asked sadly,

"Did someone lose the Christmas spirit?" When America pressed harder, still failing to shove Finland back to Finland, he exclaimed,

"Ow! That hurts!"

"Wh't 'r' y' d'n t' m' w'f?" asked a person who seemed to have lost all his vowels. Oh, of course, Sweden. The sinister nation rose from another magical void behind the counter, his terrifying 'Swedish Death Glare' burning holes into America's face. America let go of Finland and shifted to patting him on the head, grinning nervously.

"Ahaha, yeah! I have no idea what you just said, but I'm sure it was great!"

"He said, 'What are you doing to my wife?'" Finland translated. "Although I must also add that I am not his wife!" America blinked.

"Okay, take your wife and go!" With that, he successfully shoved both of them into the magical void and they flew away to their own darned countries. England turned back to America to see him panting and staring satisfied over the edge of the counter at a glowing hole in the floor through which the sound of bells could be heard.

"What the flaming hell just happened?" the Brit asked bluntly, staring at his acquaintance and lowering the glass from his lips.

"Finland and Sweden happened," America deadpanned.

"Oh. Did you mention the 'C' word?" England asked accusingly, raising an eyebrow. America nodded, still staring at the hole. England took a sip of his beverage before setting it back down.

"So, how are things in your country?"

"They're great!" America replied. "The McDonald's industry is doing amazing! The vegetable industry, not so good! The only thing anyone buys from them is potatoes to make fries, but even those are basically made entirely of oil, salt and synthetically created crap now, so yeah."

"Charming," England said, looking a little worried.

"Yeah, same with burgers! And apples!" And England just wondered how you could make apples out of oil, salt and synthetic crap.

"So, what about you? How's Britain doing?" England placed his chin in his palm thoughtfully.

"We're doing well. Nothing much has really changed since we last talked like civilised gentlemen. We've had a bit of crazy weather, but otherwise not much… Except France becoming even more of an insufferable prick, if that's even possible." England took another long drink and grumbled,

"Frog-faced good-for-nothing."

"Yeah, that'd be annoying," America commented.

"So, you think—" England continued, his tongue having been loosened by the alcohol. Even though he'd had like, two sips.

"Dumb old pervert! Running around and trying to force people to marry him! He hasn't learned a goddamned thing in the past five centuries!" he ranted.

"He should sit down and shut up, learn how to act like a gentleman instead of a bloody hooker!" America tried to intervene, but England appeared to be ignoring him.

"'Ey, Eenglond, why are joo zo grumpei all zeh time, eh?" England whined, in a horrible imitation of the errotic blonde nation.

"Why don' joo stop being zo urptight and be more like moi, no? Zince I am zo much more pretty and fabulous and I smell like ztinky cheese!" He snorted, drinking some more.

"And to make matters worse, he can't even pronounce English words properly! He's destroying the language every time he opens his mouth!"

"England—" America gave up, searching the room for anything he could use to change the subject. His eyes settled on a bilboard across the road. He looked back and England who wouldn't shut up and sighed.

_'I guess that's all that's going to work, then. But I get the feeling I'm gonna regret this.'_

"So, what about that Doctor Who show, huh?" he began, already wishing he hadn't.

"It's been going quite a while? What, fifty years now?" England's words halted and smashed into each other, falling out of his mouth and shattering on the floor.

"Yes. Yes it has."

"So… Is it any good? I heard it's got aliens in it. That's cool." England took a deep breath.

"Yes. It's probably the _one_ show that makes the possibility of aliens seem liable."

"So. What do you think of it?" England shifted a little in his seat, clearing his throat and downing the rest of his drink. He couldn't contain himself for much longer.

"It's quite good."

"Huh. Cool."

"Okay, I lied!" England exclaimed. "It's bloody brilliant!" America blinked, taken aback.

"Alright."

"It's just so well-written, the way everything is given to you at the start but you never figure it out 'til the end of the episode! And it's such a great take on real historical events, even better if you've actually been there! It all just seems so realistic even though it's so ridiculously far-fetched and crazy! It's the only show that could convince me that extra-terrestrial life could exist, and time travel is a true possibility!"

America blinked. "Okay!"

England took a steadying breath. "It's just…a bloody big part of British culture, and I can see why. It's pretty… How you would put it… Awesome! I'll have to get you to watch a little of it."

"Sure…" America, a little freaked out by England's apparent 'excitement', simply nodded and smiled, on the inside thinking, _'Shit, what have I done, I broke the United Kingdom.'_

"Cheers, old boy!" England said, raising his glass. America raised his glass as well, pushing up his glasses and smiling a little.

"Yeah. Cheers, man."


	3. Nyooooooom

I would like to apologies for the shortness of this chapter. The next one will be so much better and longer, I promise

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**What Happens At The Bar Stays At England's House**

Chapter 3:

_Nyooooooom_

* * *

The noise of the bar had died down as many of the other customers had left for home. The lights had dimmed and the place was near-empty, save for a few people sitting in the corner and the two nations at the bar. England stared deep into his glass as if it held the hidden truths of the universe.

"A-am I catholic…? Or protestant?" He slammed his head into the counter. "God, I don't /know!"/ America sighed.

"Not this again." The bartender looked over to them.

"Is he alright?" America looked over to him.

"Oh, he _always_ gets this way when he drinks." He paused. _"Always."_ England jumped clumsily to his feet, drawing attention as he started to slap his chest and slur loudly,

"You don' know me! I'm the Uni'ed bludd—"

"Yeah, yeah, the 'Uni'ed bluddy King'om', I know. You said the same thing last time too."

"Shut u-_u_-up!" England whined, swaying on his feet. America rolled his eyes.

"Alright, let's get you home then." England stuck out his tongue.

"Can I get four to go, though?" America ordered, waving over the bartender.

"Sure." He turned, grabbed some bottles off the shelf and handed them to America.

"So, tonight's total is fifty-six pounds."

"Fifty-six pounds of what?" America asked blankly.

"Americans." The bartender sighed.

"Just hand me some money."

"Okay." America handed over a note (which unbeknownst to him was actually one hundred pounds) and the bartender took it all without change to avenge the world for America's stupidity.

"Thanks, man!" America said, beaming.

"Have an awesome night!" America and England left the bar, the latter humming an eerie tune and smiling creepily. He tripped and stumbled into a lamppost.

"So, how am I gonna get you home in that state?" America asked.

"We can fly the TARDIS!" England exclaimed, his thick accent not at all tainted by the alcohol he'd consumed.

"Don't be stupid," America chided. He thought for a moment.

"Oh! I know! I can get my man Tony to fly us home in his UFO!"

"Yes…!" England nodded, a red mark forming on his forehead from where he'd walked into the pole.

"We can go riding away in the sky like _nyooooooo…"_ The older nation then proceeded to stick out his arms and run down the pavement like an aeroplane.

"Ahahaha! Like a bomber! I need ta borrow yer jacket! Pssssshooo…BOOM!"

"England, stop! Get back here!" America ran after the Brit and grabbed him by the collar.

"I'm calling Tony now!" England sat down on the floor as blue squiggles gathered over his head, depressed once again.

"Like a bomber…Gonna make London go 'boom' in the raids…"

"Stop being so dramatic." America pulled out his phone and scrolling through his contacts to 'Tony'.

"Fuck it?" Tony answered.

"Hey, dude," greeted America. "There a chance you could drop by and pick up me and my buddy? We need to get to England's house."

"Fuck it, bitchin' fuck!"

"Awesome!" America picked England up (once again, by the collar) and set him on his feet.

"See you soon, then!"

"Fucking!" Tony farewelled his friend and then his UFO teleported into view seconds later and the top popped open. America grabbed the super gloomy England and threw him over his shoulder before crouching and jumping into the UFO.


	4. Freedom Is A Powerful Thing

**What Happens At The Bar Stays At England's House**

Chapter 4:

_Freedom Is A Powerful Thing_

* * *

America jumped out of the UFO, stumbling slightly as he tried to handle his slight drunkenness the weight of England over his shoulder. "Thanks, Tony, my man!" he cried enthusiastically.

"Fuck it! Bitchin'!"

"Bye!" America waved at his alien friend as his ship vanished into the night. As he carried England up to his front door, the bushy-browed nation slurred out,

"That was bloody amazing! We were flying like airplanes but we weren't in airplanes going _neeooo_ like _wheeee_ and it was fucking _amazing!_ Can I use your sci-fi technology to build the TARDIS?"

"Dude," America said. "What the fuck is a TARDIS?" England stared at him with an offended look and shouted,

"TH'DOCTAH'S WIBBLEE WOBBLEE TIME MASHEEN!" Then he burst into a fit of drunken giggles at America's baffled expression.

"I have like, zilch idea what you're talkin' at me, bro, so ask me again when you're less…" He searched for the right word. "Drunk."

"SPEAK PROPER ENGLISH, GIT!" England wailed. "And I'm not drunk! _You're_ drunk, you…! You…!" America pulled him off his shoulder and held him up by the armpits, watching as he stared and tried to find an appropriate insult.

"You… _boop_." As he booped, England reached out and poked the taller nation's nose lightly. He giggled again like the drunken retard he was. "Did you just freaking _boop_ me on the nose?" America asked.

"Yah!" England grinned. America gave him a look, and then set him down. "

Okay. I need you to open the door." England shoved his hand in his pocket, rummaging around for his keys and humming. Sleepily, his eyes drifted closed and he collapsed onto his knees. America glared at him exasperatedly.

"Really, England?" As if in response, England raised his hand and grabbed the key, trying to turn it but failing epically. America sighed and opened the door for him. It appeared that England had fallen asleep on his knees, so America grabbed him and threw him back over his shoulder. He strode down the hall to the living room and laid the other nation on the couch, propping his head up on a pillow (which was unsurprisingly printed with the Union Jack). America sat down next to him, letting out a sigh. He pulled out a bottle of vodka and chugged it down before realising what it was and cursing himself for drinking the signature drink of the country of ANTI-FREEDOM! He opened the window and threw the empty bottle out, wailing,

"Damn you Commies! I will turn your land into FREE WORLD IN FREEDOM LAND DO WHAT THE HELL I WANT 'MURICAH because I AM THE FREAKING HERO!" As if in response, it started raining on his head.

"DAMN BRITISH WEATHER!" In a strange and rare display of intelligence, America pulled his head out of the rain and even closed the window too. He thumped back down onto the sofa, scowling. He glanced at England, who was snoring loudly. The 'hero' looked closely at his fellow nation, squinting and moving his glasses around as everything seemed a little blurry.

"Huh…" He smiled dorkily. "England has pretty eyebrows…" Suddenly, England gave a hacking cough and started to choke randomly because FREEDOM is a powerful thing.

"AAAAH!" America started to freak out.

"HOLY SHIT! What do I do?!" He grabbed England's shoulder and rolled him onto his side, panicking.

"England! England! What's wrong?!" In response, England stopped breathing altogether. Smashed from the alcohol, America began full-on freaking out, shaking his ally's shoulder and starting to bawl.

"Don't die on me, dude! Please don't die! England!" There was a shining light in the middle of a room and a fairy princess he couldn't see appeared out of nowhere, surrounded by a golden glow of shinies and ducks.

"England!" proclaimed Le Wild Magical Princess of Fluffy Duck Death.

"I have returned from my holiday in—OH MY DUCKING GOD HE'S DYING!" The fairy princess pulled out a magical wand with a duck on top and pointed it at the roof, chanting,

"Oh, Mighty Extreme Fuzzy Duck Warrior of the Meadow Rainbow Ponds from Atlantis! Please grant me the ultimate power of bringing back deceased nations! In return I will give you twenty of my Fluffy Shiny Fuzzy Ultimate Craze Go Go Quack Boing Duck Stickers from my Fluffy Shiny Fuzzy Ultimate Craze Go Go Quack Boing Duck Sticker Collection!" Her ducky wand glowed a bright gold as she tapped it to the dead England's forehead, effectively reviving him.

"Oh, hello Princess Peach," England said in his heavy English accent, perfectly sober.

"Thank you for that! What would I ever do without you?" America watched his formerly deceased ally talking to a shining golden bubble of ducks with a blank expression.

"You would do nothing because you would be dead," Peach pointed out. England blinked like a fish.

"Just kidding," the princess said.

"I also cured your drunkenness, so you're sober now. Yay, no hangovers! Your friend's still drunk, but he's fine. Don't worry about him. Anyway, goodbye England! See you soon!"

"Goodbye, your highness!" England bowed at the glowing duck bubble before realizing that America was still sitting in the room and looking downright and absolutely full-on blank.

"I-I can explain!" he exclaimed.

"'Sokay," America replied.

"You do this a lot. I'm used to your crazy bullshit now." The pair sat in awkward silence.


	5. The 11th Doctor and River Song

**What Happens At The Bar Stays At England's House**

Chapter 5:

_The 11th Doctor and River Song_

* * *

"So, ah..." England began, eventually breaking the silence. "You remember when we were at the bar?"

America nodded, despite being a little confused about how his friend could remember it so well after being drunk the whole time.

England looked down at the floor, blushing slightly.

"Well... Will you watch Doctor Who with me like you promised?"

America paused as his foggy brain attempted to decipher this.

"Uh..."

"W-well...!" England looked flustered; America couldn't figure out why.

"I mean... That is, we have nothing better to do, so..."

America considered his options. He could decline England's request and go home - thus breaking his fragile little heart - or he could sacrifice some of his super-epic-heroic-FREEDOM-awesome time to watch whatever show this was with him.

"Yeah, sure," he said with a shrug. 'How bad can it be, right?'

England nodded firmly, still red. "Well, then. I'll put on Season five, since it's at hand..."

America watched his friend flick on the TV and put in the DVD. '_C'mon, dude_', he thought to himself. '_Gotta keep a positive mind... But darnit, anything England likes is bound to be lame_'!

"I've only got this season so far," England said cheerily.

"But I've ordered all the rest, so they should be here soon!"

"Good for you," muttered America sarcastically.

"I know you're not much into the things I like, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless," said England, walking back and settling on the couch.

The theme tune of Doctor Who played in the background and the pair started to watch.

* * *

** ~~~SEASON FIVE LATER~~~ **

* * *

America sniffed loudly, sobbing wildly and wiping his eyes on his sleeves. He let out a wail and cried,

"How can a show about an alien time-traveler dude in a phone booth be so freakin' sad?!"

England, a little less hysterical, tearfully replied,

"Because Britain makes better TV shows...!"

"I love and hate this thing at the same time, bro!" cried America at a stupidly high volume, still intoxicated.

"Me too!" England agreed with a shuddering sob, tears streaming down his face.

The two clung to each other for support as they watched the credits of the final episode of the series play, bawling.

After they'd both finally calmed down, England asked America what he thought of this miracle that was BBC's Doctor Who.

"It's 'MAZING!" America shouted. "Not only 'sthere aliens like m'man Tony, but there's so many HEROES! 'Specially in the 'Merica episodes!" He let out an excited squeal as he thought of all the heroes and his wonderful country.

"Glad you like it, but quieten down a little!" England scolded.

"The neighbours will be out for my blood come the 'morrow!"

"Soz," said America with a shrug.

"'Soz' is not a real word," England pointed out. "So, do you have a favourite character yet?"

"DO I?!" America appeared to either not have heard England or was just ignoring him.

"River Song all th'way, man! She's so badass! What about you?!"

"Er, it might sound odd, but I've a soft spot for Rory," the blonde confessed. "He's so calm, yet powerful. And caring too! Do you support any ships?"

"YEEEAH! TH'DOCTAH 'N' RIVAH!" America hollered.

"They're so awesome! Do you ship them too, bro?!"

"Yes, I do," England replied, a little irked that his ally still hadn't lowered his voice.

"But I ship Amy and Rory more. And please stop screaming, you'll attract Sealand!"

"Soz again."

"Still not a word."

"Dude, hold up! I have the best idea ever!"

"What is it?"

"We should totally dress up as Doctor Who characters!" America exclaimed excitedly. "Awesome, huh? Nice idea, right? I'm so smart, aren't I?"

England frowned at America's loudness. At least he wasn't using capital sentences anymore, though.

"Yes, but I don't have any costumes to... Oh! Yes, I do! I got them recently!"

"Really?!" America sat up straight. "Who?"

"I have Eleven and River, but-"

"Awlraight! You've got two!" America grinned.

"I'll be the Doctor, 'n' you can be River!"

"But why do you get to be the Doctor? And why do I have to wear girl's clothes?!" England protested.

"'Cause I've got better hair for it, duh!" explained America.

"And River's badass! You'll look great!" He paused.

"Wait, why do you even have River Song cosplay anyway?"

"It came with Eleven's for free," stated England bluntly.

"Makes sense." America jumped to his feet and threw his hands on his hips. "Go get 'em, dude!"

"But..." England tried to complain, still not happy about being stuck dressing in girl's clothes.

"C'mon, do it!"

The older nation sighed.

"Fine."

* * *

** ~~~COSPLAY TIME LATER!~~~ **

* * *

"How d'ai look?" America slurred, twirling in a circle and flapping his tweed jacket.

"Like the Doctor," England deadpanned, tugging down his skirt self-consciously.

"And you look jus' like River!" He grinned. "'S awsome!"

"Yeah," England grumbled, still not happy about the situation. "Awesome."

America pulled a bottle from inside his jacket and threw back his head, gulping it down.

"America!" the green-eyed nation warned. "I think you've had enough of that..."

But it was too late, for he'd already downed the whole thing.

England flinched as America stumbled over to him, smirking widely.

"Lookit all that-hic-hair! So curly!"

"Cut that out!" the Brit snapped as his fellow country began to twist his fingers around in the frizzy wig, giggling as he did so.

"Make me!" America jibed, continuing with his twisting.

The blonde nation gave up, thumping down onto the sofa as his 'friend' played with his 'hair'. He looked to the other man's costume, and noticed how terribly he'd done it up. The bow tie was crooked, the fez lopsided and the suspenders weren't fastened properly.

"You've done a horrible job with your cosplay, America," he said pointedly, reaching out to straighten the bow tie.

"Let me fix it..."

"Heehee," America giggled as England pushed his fez into the correct position.

"What?" England snapped.

"Nuthin'," America replied cheekily. "'S jus'... Y'should be doin' th'opposite. Eheheh!"

"The opposite?" England echoed. "What do you mean the opposite?"

"Well..." America giggled even harder. "'Stead o' fixin' the clothes..."

"Oh, spit it out, you prat!" barked the older nation.

"'Stead o' fixin' 'em, you should be..." America laughed a little. "Un-fixin' 'em..."

England went bright red. "Wh-what are you suggesting, America?!"

Mentioned cosplaying nation smirked and twitched one eyebrow up suggestively, shooting the other a devillish smirk.

"Undress me, River Song!"


	6. American Idiot

**What Happens At The Bar Stays At England's House **

Chapter 6:

_American Idiot _

* * *

"What?!"

"You heard me," said America.

"Undress me!" He leant forward slightly.

_M-maybe nothing will happen!_ Thought England, so freaked out that even his thoughts had a stutter.

_Maybe the stupid git'll just end up running to the bathroom for a puke and he'll totally forget what he said after that! Yes, sounds like the kind of bollocks this eejit would pull, especially since the wanker's legless as hell!_

Alas, America simply continued to stare at him with his 'seductive' gaze, hiccuping every so often. He was moving ever closer, leaning towards his target.

"C'mon, England..."

"B-bugger off!" England exclaimed, for a lack of reasonable arguments.

_I could try running away and hiding 'til he drops...but where will I hide? My whole sodding house is just one great dead end! The only rooms with locks are the bathroom and the basement, but if this twat does end up tossing his biscuits... And I'll never make it to the basement faster than him! He might be drunk but he'll still outrun me!_

As America continued to press against him, England realised he was wasting valuable running time.

_Sod it!_ He thought and tried to bolt, but it was too late - America had him pinned.

"Oi, wanker-!" England began to shout. His cry was smothered as the nation holding him down interrupted.

"Sssssshhhh," he crooned, putting a finger on the big-browed nation's lips. He pulled it away as it was in danger of being bitten.

"Stop that. Stop shoutin' and complainin' all the time or I'mma hafta shut ya up." He smirked.

"With my lips." If England could have gone any redder, he would have just done so.

"Wh-what are you talking about?!" "

Y'know what I'm talkin' bout..." America drawled, leaning towards his fellow nation.

"Iggy..."

"I-I-I told you not to call me that!" England spluttered, edging away.

"And no, I don't have a bloody clue _what_ you're insinuating!" When the elder of the pair had run out of sofa to move along, the younger didn't hesitate to exploit it. He kept England pinned on his back, pressing his hands against his chest.

"C'mon, y'know y'wanna..."

"No! I don't!" exclaimed England, blushing madly.

"America, you are very, very drunk, and you should get off me right now before you do something we both regret - like throwing up on me!" He looked away.

"Or worse."

"Why'd I regret 'nything that shows you how I feel about you, Eng'lan'?" England struggled to push America off himself, but the larger nation was much stronger than he was and refused to be shifted.

"C'mon, Iggy... C'mon..." England felt America's warm hands grab his shoulders, and he stiffened.

"America! Get off me!"

"Kiss me, England..."

"Get stuffed, you gormless knob head!"

"I don' unnerstan' half the Brit-slang you spurt. Speak American!" America giggled.

"Fine then! Go fuck yourself, you stupid dickhead! Is that better?! Do you under-Mmph!" England's eyes widened and he pressed himself deeper into the couch as America lunged forward and planted a kiss right on his lips. The fez tumbled from his head and rolled across the floor.

"On second thought, only speak British. I like you the way you are." He then proceeded to lick England's cheek lightly, giggling again. The blonde went redder still and tried in vain to push his fellow nation away one again. He was almost choking on the thick scent of alcohol.

"America, please...get off...!"

"Huh? Playin' hard to get, eh?" America's eyes sparkled playfully.

"No!" England was desperate now.

"I'm not playing hard to get! I don't want to make out with you!"

"'Course you do!" America kissed England again, on the lips, and the older tried desperately to keep his mouth pressed tight. He relaxed slightly and shut his eyes, but even that was enough for his aggressor, who took it as a sign that he was accepting the kissing and moved on to his neck. Now that his lips were free again, England pleaded,

"America! Please! I'm begging you to stop this rubbish! You're plastered and I'm not up for it!"

"Really?" America looked up at the Brit, his eyes sad and plaintive.

"You want me to stop?"

"Yes! I do!" England nodded hysterically.

"Abso-bloody-lutely! And the puppy-dog eyes won't work this time!"

"Alright, fine," America conceeded, sitting up a little and huffing.

"But if I stop, there's one thing I wan' ya to do before I get of your hot bod."

"And what would that be?" England inquired, a little worried. America attempted to clear his throat, but it ended up as a loud hiccup. He grinned slyly and shot his ally a look.

"French kiss!" England went stiff.

"Dear lord, no! I'm not doing that with you!"

"That's my one 'n' only condish, man," America drawled.

"And I'm stickin' to it." England bared his teeth out of sheer distress, trying to find any other way out of the situation. How had this night gone so wrong?! But if it was the only way... England searched America's confident face, but was unable to find even a trace of doubt or hesitation. He was serious. He wanted the kiss, and he was going to get it, one way or another.

"I-if it means you'll get off me," England said quietly, his blush reaching it's peak.

"You can kiss me. But only because I can't find another way out of this!"

"Yesss!" America grinned.

"Told ya that ya want to! What the hero wants, the hero gets!"

And with his words still hanging in the air, he swooped, placing one hand on England's left cheek as he kissed him passionately. At first, the Brit tried to resist. But gradually, shamefully, he found himself weakening until he was returning America's affection. He tried to tell himself that it was just to get the larger nation to leave him in peace, but he couldn't deny that a small part of him was enjoying this. A few seconds later, America withdrew. He was breathing heavy and smiling, but looked bleary eyed. England was panting too, his vivid green eyes wide and his heart racing.

_What...did we just do?_

The taller of the pair yawned loudly.

"A-America!" England snapped.

"Don't you dare-" And then the young nation collapsed on the older's chest, his head resting at England's chin. He was already snoring softly, and his tufty hair tickled.

_"-fall asleep on me,"_ the blonde finished helplessly. He tried to push America off, but the heavy nation was impossible to shift. He sighed.

"For Pete's sake...!" he growled exasperatedly, giving up.

"He's not sexually harassing me anymore..._but what the bloody hell do I do with this fat-arsed wanker?!" _

"I can help!" England jumped out of his skin as a high-pitched voice nearly gave him a heart attack. He looked up.

"Flying Mint Bunny! You scared the bejeezus out of me! And what the devil are you doing in my house?"

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep in your underwear drawer!" the magical creature explained lightly.

"Why is America on top of you?"

"Well, th-that is... I-it's a long story..." England stammered. He lapsed into silence.

"Listen, I can levitate him off you for a few seconds if you like," Flying Mint Bunny told him.

"Also, why are you wearing a skirt?"

"Yes, please," England sighed exhaustedly.

"Do it as fast as you can! And I'm wearing a skirt because..." He racked his brains, but failed to find an appropriate response.

"I just am!" The green winged bunny touched it's tiny paws to America's forehead and the slumbering nation slowly rose a metre or so off the couch. Immediately, England rolled out from underneath him and onto the floor, letting out a breath of relief.

"Thanks a million, Flying Mint Bunny. If it weren't for you, I'd have this drunken git stuck on me all night." The bunny tapped America's head once more and he drifted back down.

"You're welcome! I'll be off now! There was a pixie I meant to meet in the woods a couple of days ago, but I think I slept through our picnic. Pip pip!"

"Farewell." England watched his friend fly down the hall and disappear from vision. He glanced back at America and sighed again. He prayed he would be too drunk to remember the whole ordeal come tomorrow. He stood and left the room, but returned moments later with a quilt in tow, which he threw over America and tucked around him. The young nation's glasses were askew, his hair was messy and his face was a little red. Nonetheless, England thought he looked sweet, in a troublesome, annoying sort of way. He reached over and picked off America's glasses, folding them and setting them on the coffee table. He also pulled the ridiculous wig off his own head and tossed it aside.

_America..._ he thought and frowned.

_All that time..._ He sighed yet again and rubbed his own eyes, yawning.

"All that time," he said.

"That was just the drinks, wasn't it? I think so... It was just the alcohol talking. You don't really like me that way - you just thought you did." But for some reason, he couldn't help feeling a little saddened by that.

"America, you idiot." England leaned in and kissed the other nation lightly on the forehead. He moved towards the door, aiming to go to bed. He looked back over his shoulder as he reached the door.

"You're so stupid."


	7. Maybe Someday

Hey everyone! I would like to say that this is the last chapter of this story! I would like to thank everyone that helped me throughout the story. I would like to thank ZakuroU for helping me write the story, my friend Grace for helping me to come up with the title of this story, squirrelette for coming up with the word "Aussie Land", and everyone else that helped that I can't remember who they were! I would also like to thank everyone for reading the story. You have all been great and you all encouraged me to keep going and you all made the story so much fun to wright so thank you to everyone!

* * *

**What Happens At The Bar Stays At England's House **

Chapter 7:

_Maybe Someday_

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England yawned as he shuffled into the kitchen, stretching his arms over his head. He blinked blearily in the light that hit him when he flicked the switch and made his way over to the white cupboards. Sometimes, in the mornings, he regretted having done his kitchen this way; red walls, blue tiles and white furnishing to match his flag. But at the time, he'd really wanted to outdo America. And besides, he could always have it redecorated some other time. He pulled open a cupoboard and reached inside to pull out a box of Rice Krispies and poured himself a bowl. He added a little milk and went to sit down. He was about to stick his spoon in when America came stumbing into the room, looking terrible. He was clutching his head, his dirty-blonde hair messy and falling over his eyes. He was still wearing his cosplay.

"Uuugh," America moaned.

"My head hurts... Too shiny..." England looked up at his fellow nation but quickly averted his gaze as he remembered what had happened last night.

_'He'd kissed this man! Kissed him! On the lips!'_

England felt the sudden desire to shrink down to a miniscule size and hide amongst the popped grains of rice he was currently munching on.

"It hurts so bad..." America complained as he walked over and sat down opposite.

"I have a headache... The hero can't do hero stuff with a headache!"

"It's called a hangover, wanker," England told him sharply, trying to hide his embarrassment. America might complain a lot now, but in England's experience, his hangovers never lasted long.

"Yeah, I know what it's called. I'm not stupid."

"Beg to differ," England muttered. He looked at his cereal, unable to meet America's gaze. America seemed not to have noticed the remark.

"I know what I need," he decided.

"A burger. Get me a hamburger, stat."

"The bloody hell d'you need a _burger_ for?!" England snapped.

"Because burgers'll fix everything!" the young nation proclaimed throwing a fist in the air as a sign of his dedication to meaty justice. He immediately regretted it, cringing and rubbing his head again.

"Ow..."

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you we have none of that rubbish in this house," England informed him loftily, making his way to the fridge to get more milk for his cereal. It seemed a little dry. As he poured some more in, he said,

"What you really need is a good British fry-" He was cut off as his cereal burst into flames.

"You have got to be bloody kidding me," he said with an irritated expression. He quickly moved for the conveniently nearby fire extinguisher and sprayed it all over the flaming bowl. He sighed as he threw the scorched Rice Krispies in the bin. Oh well. He wasn't that hungry anyway.

"I guess that was more of a British incinerate than fry," America jibed weakly.

"Oh, shut up, ass shat" England retorted, looking over at the sink.

"So anyway," America shifted a little.

"You mind telling me what exactly happened last night? I can't remember a darned thing." England swore he felt the blood drain from his face as all the memories of last night he'd been trying to suppress came floating to the surface.

"Dude? England? You in there, bro?" England didn't respond.

"Hello? Earth calling Iggy-land. Did your eyebrows finally grow into your brain and turn you into a vegetable?" America leaned forward and jabbed England in the face with a finger.

"What happened, man? Seriously! Answer me! I need the news, bro. What went down?"

"Ehhhhhh..." England blinked slowly. America pulled his puppy dog eyes.

"C'mon, Engy. Give me the low-down!"

"Uh..." England seemed to snap out of his daze a little at the name '_Engy_'. He cleared his throat, feeling all the blood rush back into his face and turn it red.

"Sure you want to know?"

"It can't be that bad," America said with a shrug.

"I wasn't that drunk."

"You chugged three bottles of vodka, America. And that was after the bar," England told him.

"It was that bad."

"Oh," America cringed. "Really that bad?"

"Really that bad."

"Wow, I'm sorry, dude. I didn't know it was that bad... But I still need to know!"

"I still don't think it's a bright idea..." England protested, still looking a little dazed.

"You have to," America said.

"No 'but's about it." England looked distraught, which only made America even more curious.

_'What could he possibly have done to make England so flustered?'_

"Fine," the Englishman sighed eventually. "I'll tell you."

"Thanks, man," America replied, smiling. "It means a lot."

"So last night, after we came back, you were drunk. I wasn't anymore because, well, magic..."

"I know that much," America informed him. He thought hard, something many had deemed impossible for the slightly very stupid nation.

"I remember up to Princess Peach and duck bubbles... Did that really happen? Or is your loopyness rubbing off?"

"It happened!" England snapped. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, but he'd started reluctantly looking at America's eyes. Those eyes that just last night had stared at him with love and desire... He shook his head, freaking out a little.

"Oh, whatever. It happened. Keep going," America said, mistaking England's shake for an act of stubbornness.

"Okay, um... Well... First, we watched Doctor Who," England told him, trying to drag out the story as long as he could to avoid getting to the... He shuddered. _Kiss_.

"What?!" America exclaimed.

"Aw man, why did you let me watch that?"

"You watched it because you promised me! Besides, you loved it!" England protested.

"I was drunk. That's why I loved it."

"Even if you were sober you would love it!" England told him. "It's a great show!"

"Whatever, just keep talking!" England looked a little offended, but continued.

"So, after you watched Doctor Who, you wanted to cosplay... You know, where you dress as you favourite character and sometimes role-play-"

"I know what cosplay is, dude," America said. "I have my own conventions, too." He looked down at his clothes.

"Is that what I'm wearing right now?" England nodded. "Where did I get this?"

"It's mine," England mumbled.

"Kinky."

"Shut up!" America laughed, then asked,

"Who am I meant to be, anyway?"

"The Eleventh Doctor, from Doctor Who."

"Yeah..." America strained to remember the character, but couldn't.

"What next?"

"You made me cosplay with you..."

"Who were you?"

"River song..." England mumbled. America's eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

"Is that a girl?" England took a short breath and glared his anger at his ally. America's frown turned into a smirk, then a smile, a grin and finally full-blown laughter. He slapped the table, obviously making quick work of recovering from his hangover.

"Lol!" he exclaimed, giggling.

"You were dressed like a girl! Were you wearing a skirt?" England's continued glare was all the confirmation America needed.

"Hahahaha!" America broke out into another fit of laughter.

"You wore a skirt!"

"You made me!"

"Even better!" England scowled, folding his arms over his chest and sitting back into his chair. His cheeks were red like he'd been running.

"Git," he muttered.

"Alright, moving on," America said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Next?"

"You-you started playing with the wig I was wearing."

"A wig?!" America echoed. "This just gets better and better!"

"Do you want me to tell the story or not?!" England snapped, annoyed and embarrassed.

"Yeah."

"Then shut up and let me talk!"

"Alright, bro, just calm down and get on with it."

"So while you were doing that," England said, "I noticed how badly you'd put on your cosplay. I started fixing it up because I didn't want it ruined."

"Of course you would do that," America interrupted. He noticed England's glare.

"Sorry. Go on." England opened his mouth and stopped. This was where it got awkward. He looked at America's impatient face and felt ashamed all over again. He felt the heat rise in his face and went on.

"That's when you, um...started laughing."

"Laughing?"

"Yes. You said I...should have been doing the opposite..." England trailed off, red like a tomato. Spain might have tried to put him on his head or something if he was there. Romano might have eaten him.

"Opposite, huh...?" America turned the word over in his mouth, trying to figure out the meaning. "What did I do next?"

"You don't want to know," England sighed, putting his head in his hands.

"I do wanna know!" America exclaimed.

"We've been through this! The hero demands truth and justice!" England took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself. He saw America's eager face and his embarrassment surged up again. He shook his head.

"I can't."

"If you say it fast it'll be easier and less painful, like ripping off a sticky bandage."

"A plaster," England corrected.

"A band-aid," Australia corrected from Aussieland where he was riding a kangaroo across the ceiling. England cleared his throat, ignoring his annoying former colonies. His English was the best English because he was England.

"Alright," he said, voice wavering. "Here's the truth." America looked at him, waiting. England closed his eyes.

"After I continually tried to get you to explain what you were going on about, you just said in an undeniably seductive tone, "Undress me River Song!" And you pinned me down so you're on top of me on the sofa and I kept politely asking you to get the bloody hell off me but you just kept saying things like "C'mon Iggy," or "Y'know you wanna," and I really tried to get away and then you just start to kiss me! On the lips!" England's words ran into each ofher as he blurted out the whole story, looking close to becoming one with Mother Tomato. America looked shocked.

"No way, man..."

"Next you started to lick my bloody face and I kept trying to beg you to stop but you still wouldn't listen and you then kissed me again on my lips to shut me up and then went down to my neck and after a whole lot of me asking you to get off and stuff like that you finally understood I didn't want to make out with you but you wouldn't let me go until we French kissed together and I had no other choice so I did." England looked distraught. He was breathing heavily and looked almost like he was going to break down.

"A minute or so later you passed out on me and I couldn't lift you because you were too heavy but then Flying Mint Bunny appeared and helped me get you off and, well bloody hell, I just went to bed and that's it!" England threw back his chair and bolted from the room, leaving America in stunned silence. The young nation ran a hand through his hair, feeling shaky.

"Fuck," he said to no-one. The only sound was the clock ticking on the wall as America's mind pieces together everything England had said, and he felt so ashamed he could never eat another hamburger again. His heart was beating loudly as he stood and walked towards England's room. He knocked on the door.

"England? Are you okay?" England's voice was muffled as he shouted back,

"Go 'way!" America looked at his feet and pushed the door open anyway. England was lying on the bed, facing away from America.

"Get out," he muttered, his voice cracking.

"Look, England, I'm-" His eyes widened. "Dude, are you crying?!"

"No!" England retorted as he sat up. The red around his eyes made it painfully obvious he had been. He looked down at his hands and sniffed.

"No, no!" America shook his head.

"I'm so stupid! I'm as stupid as everyone says I am!" He thumped down on England's bed, putting creases in the Union Jack.

"Look man, I'm super sorry!" he said. "I didn't mean it, I was drunk! Crazy stuff happens to everyone when they're drunk and they don't really mean it, you know that! Please, I'm sorry, I don't want things to be awkward between us. You're my bro, my man, my mate! I'm so sorry! None of that ever should have happened, and I never meant it to..." England finally looked up.

"Was it just the alcohol talking?" he asked quietly.

"Do do you-do you really feel that way about me?" America had his turn being a tomato, his cheeks burning as he replied,

"Uh... I..." He cast a glance at England that was caught between sadness and confusion.

"What am I supposed to say? Is there a correct answer here?"

"Yes," England told him. "The truth."

"Well..." America looked at the ceiling. He kicked his legs and thought hard. Eventually, he came to a decision. He looked England straight in the eye.

"The truth is...I do. I really do! I-I love you, Arthur Kirkland, and you're just so perfect to me! You're probably even _too_ good for me, but I love you so much!" America laughed nervously, pushing up his glasses.

"It's hard for me to admit it but, I've always liked you, England. I just... I only realised I loved you when it was too late...I'd already made you hate me."

"America..." England looked sad, but surprised. He smiled softly.

"I never hated you, America. Granted, I was upset with you when you broke away from me, but...I never hated you. And even now..." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and motioning with his hands as he talked.

"I know you'd never try to do anything like that to me if you were in control. What you did when you were drunk was beyond either of us, and I forgive you." He put an arm around America's shoulders and squeezed him tightly.

"I have a question for you though..." America mumbled. "You... You don't feel the same, do you?" England looked around the room. Here was the hard part.

"America..." He took the taller nation's hand, smiling sadly.

"I'm afraid you're right. I don't. Not now, at least. Maybe someday, if I can get to know you again. For now..." He sighed. "I know I don't have feelings like that for you." He stood up, still holding America's hand.

"But we'll see. Some feelings don't just appear overnight. And if I do develop a larger affection for you... Well, I'll know what your intentions are." He leaned forward and kissed America on the cheek.

"I'm really sorry, love..." He smiled sympathetically again and let go of America's hand.

"Maybe someday." He turned and went to go make some more burnt things for them to eat. America touched a hand to his cheek, a little sad. Of course he'd seen it coming that England probably wouldn't return his affections, but it didn't make it any less upsetting. There was always that one chance though, one small chance that England might one day love him. And if he didn't, America would live with that. As long as England was happy, he would be happy. He'd just be happi-er if they were together. So he stood up, vowing to spend as much time as he could with England. To get to know each other again, as the Brit had said. Even if they did end up 'just friends' in the end, it would be worth it in America's mind just to be around England more.

"Hey, wait up!" he called, smiling. "Let me help you cook; I don't wanna eat flamed bacon for breakfast!"


End file.
